


Lead Me, Guide Me

by fanatic_by_definition



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Candy, Dry Humping, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Halloween, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Scary Movies, Texting, awesome roommate Andy Hurley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 02:27:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8427727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanatic_by_definition/pseuds/fanatic_by_definition
Summary: Patrick looks up at Pete and smirks a little, eyes sparkling. “Hey there,” he says, offering Pete the pen. “Liked the tour so much you decided to do it again, huh?”

  “Something like that,” Pete chuckles as he signs his name. “Mostly I just wanted to see you again.”

  When he looks up from the paper, Patrick’s beaming and the tips of his ears are as red as his waistcoat. “Yeah?”

  “Mm-hmm.” Pete grins back at him and caps the pen. Feeling bold, he reaches out and slips it into the breast pocket of Patrick’s jacket, smoothing down the lapels before taking his hands away. “Is…that okay?”

  “Definitely,” Patrick says with a little nod.
###Pete isn't looking forward to going on a lame "ghost tour" around DePaul's campus. Even though Andy insists it'll be cool, he's skeptical. Right up to the moment he lays eyes on the adorable tour guide.





	

**Author's Note:**

> gosh, i haven't posted anything in so long, i almost forgot how exciting it is!! 
> 
> this is a halloween-themed peterick fic (obvs) based off this prompt i found on hockeycaptain's tumblr: "i'm on this ghost tour and my guide is really hot and no one has ever looked sexier in hokey Victorian wear". it sounded like a cute idea, so i ran with it--or rather, it ran with me and grew into an 11k monster, haha.
> 
> as always, thanks for reading/commenting/leaving kudos, and special thanks to my Official Reviewer for keeping me motivated and being incredibly lovely in every way <33333 
> 
> hope you enjoy!!!

Andy brings it up to Pete in passing, nodding at a flyer on the wall as they leave their PoliSci class together. “What about that?”

Pete quirks an eyebrow and turns to look at it—it’s a notice about “Haunted DePaul” tours happening this week, the week before Halloween. The words _Spooky!_ and _Danger!_ are emblazoned across the page in corny blood-soaked letters, and Pete scoffs. As much as he loves Halloween, the paranormal, and pretty much anything shiver-inducing, he knows a tour like that would be twenty minutes of walking around campus in the cold and seeing nothing. Not worth his time.

Shrugging half-heartedly, the soccer player replies, “Meh, I dunno. Seems kinda lame.”

“Seriously? You’re the one who’s dying to do something ‘scintillating’ for Halloween,” Andy reminds him. “Beggars can’t be choosers, dude. And as your roommate and best friend, it’s my job to force you to have fun.”

“I’m telling you, man, _that_ won’t be fun,” Pete insists as they exit the building, starting their trek across campus to their res hall. He kicks a rock on the sidewalk with the toe of one of his beat-up Converse and sighs. “DePaul isn’t haunted. That tour’s just a history lecture disguised as something actually worthwhile.”

“Fuck you, history is awesome,” Andy chuckles and pushes his glasses further up his nose with one hand. “Ye of little faith. How do you know this place doesn’t have a poltergeist or two floating around?”

“Because I guarantee you I would’ve heard about it already.” Pete sighs heavily and casts his gaze around at the old buildings they’re walking past, taking in the now-familiar façades of some of the university’s oldest structures. “You _know_ haunted Chicago is, like, one of my things. If it were a tour anywhere else, I’d totally be down, but this place just doesn’t have the—the _energy_ for ghosts, y’know? The only undead beings around here are the students.”

Andy groans in exasperation and tips his head back as he rolls his eyes, the late afternoon autumn sun catching on his silver labret piercing. “God, _fine._ It was just a suggestion, asshole. No need to be so fuckin’ condescending about it.”

Pete sighs again, apologetically this time. “Sorry.” He swipes his dark bangs out of his eyes as they approach their res hall. “Just. Gimme a day to think about it, okay?”

Andy grins and nods as they enter the building, frustration gone. “Sure. But promise me you’ll _actually_ think about it.”

“Okay, I promise,” Pete says with a laugh. They scan their IDs and head for the elevator, shoulders brushing. “When did it say the first tour was?”

“Tomorrow night,” Andy says, pushing the button for their floor. “Nine p.m. Witching hour.”

“That’s three a.m.,” Pete tells him, because he just happens to know those sorts of things. “If the tour were happing then, maybe we _would_ see some shit.” He pauses, contemplating, as the elevator begins to climb. “Actually, it might be closer to four, according to—”

“I literally cannot articulate the extent to which I don’t care.”

 

* * *

 

Pete Wentz loves Halloween. Anyone who knows him is fully aware of that fact, and some are even annoyed by it a little. The 21-year-old loves bats, black cats, vampires, ghosts, and everything related to Tim Burton—hell, he’s been saving up for a _Nightmare Before Christmas_ tattoo sleeve for two years. He’s just always been drawn to this holiday: the lore surrounding it, the overabundance of candy, and even the cheap costumes add up to create something inexplicably fascinating to him. Pete looks at Halloween with a reverence most people save for holidays like Christmas and Easter.

Maybe it’s because it’s the only day of the year during which the whole world seems as dark and dreary as Pete usually feels. People look at him funny for wearing heavy eyeliner most of the time, but Halloween is the one day he can get away with it.

Pete’s respect for this holiday is probably why he’s so averse to the idea of DePaul putting on these stupid, pointless ghost tours. The whole point of Halloween is to get the shit scared out of you, for _real_ , at least once. How the fuck does this school think they’re gonna accomplish that by leading students around a campus they’ve seen a million times and giving them a history lecture? It’s a waste of time! An abomination! Pete would rather get on a bus for two hours to go to Statesville Haunted Prison.

Still. He promised Andy he’d at least consider it, and he’d do pretty much anything for Andy. So he does consider it, albeit begrudgingly.

Twenty-four hours pass. Pete weighs the pros and cons of the tour in his head while he should be working on a physics worksheet (oh, how he regrets putting off his science core until senior year). He even looks it up on DePaul’s website, curious about which buildings will be visited, but he only finds a PDF of the flyer he’d seen yesterday. This clearly isn’t intended to be a huge event. Pete huffs a laugh and closes the browser, unimpressed.

By 8:30 that night, though, he’s bored out of his skull. Soccer practice ended two hours ago and he’s lying on his bed, staring at the cracks in the plaster ceiling above him and imagining tiny black spiders crawling out of them. He knows he has homework he should be doing, not the least of which is a hefty research paper about cyberpolitics, but his motivation has left him entirely.

After ten minutes of counting his spiders, Pete gives in. He lets out a frustrated growl and sits up, ruffling his hair to wake himself up a bit before climbing off his bed, stomping out of the bedroom, and stalking over to Andy.

The other boy is doing homework on their shoddy old thrift store couch like a responsible student. Pete crosses his arms and grouses, “That ghost tour starts soon and I’m so fucking bored I’m about to eat my shirt. Do you wanna go?”

Andy looks up from his laptop, grinning smugly. “Finally give in to curiosity?” he asks in an amused tone.

“No. I know it’s gonna suck, I’m just dying to get out of this fucking room for awhile.”

“Uh huh.” Andy saves whatever he’d been working on and closes his laptop. “Grab one of your hideous hoodies and let’s go, then.”

Pete gapes in mock offense, pressing a hand to his chest. “My hoodies are _artistic._ ”

“They sure are. C’mon, Picasso.”

 

* * *

 

When they reach the Student Center atrium—the tour’s starting point—there’s a group of five other students waiting in the lobby. “You guys here for the tour, too?” Andy asks as he and Pete approach, and they all nod.

Pete chuckles under his breath. _First sign of failure: a tiny interested audience._ “Anyone know where the guide is?” he asks, tugging the sleeves of his neon green hoodie over his hands.

A short girl with bright orange hair shakes her head. “Hasn’t shown up yet,” she tells him with a shrug. “They’ve still got five minutes, though.”

“Yeah.” _Second sign: disorganization._ “D’you guys think they’ll—”

“Sorry!”

The tour group turns their heads as someone comes bursting through the double doors of the atrium, spewing breathless apologies. He looks young—almost too young to be in college—and his soft, round cheeks are flushed with exertion and embarrassment. As he nears the group, he runs a shaking hand through his shaggy gingery hair and fiddles with his ruffled lace collar. On anyone else the Victorian costume would look hokey and cheap, but it kind of works on him. Especially the long black jacket and the dark red suede waistcoat, which brings out his pale complexion and the pinkness of his full bottom lip.

In any other circumstance, Pete would be pissed at the guide’s lateness and spend the entire tour in a state of perpetual exasperation. But holy _shit,_ is this kid cute.

“Sorry, everyone,” the guide—who appears to be shorter than Pete without the top hat he’s wearing—repeats with a bashful smile that leaves Pete a little dazzled. “I know I’m almost late. I was working on a paper and then I couldn’t get this stupid ‘theme costume’ buttoned and—”

“It’s okay, you’re good,” Pete assures him suddenly. He feels Andy shoot him a surprised look, but he’s distracted by the guide turning to look at him. Their eyes meet and Pete feels the air rush out of his lungs—even from ten feet away, those wide sea-blue eyes are enough to make Pete’s heart skip a beat or two.

“Thanks,” the younger boy says, and Pete is struck by how pleasant and smooth his voice is. His gaze lingers on Pete’s for a few moments before he turns back to the rest of the group, adjusting his thick-framed glasses. “Okay, so. My name’s Patrick, and I’ll be bringing you through a couple of DePaul’s oldest and spookiest buildings tonight. You’ve been in all of them before, but tonight you’ll hear some stories about them you probably aren’t super familiar with.” He takes a deep breath and clenches his fists at his sides like he’s nervous. “Let’s get started, then. First stop: Saint Vincent’s.”

They all follow Patrick out of the Student Center and into the crisp Autumn night. Dry leaves rustle on the trees over their heads and the nearly-full moon lights their way, along with some ambient orange light from the windows of the buildings they pass. It’s a perfect night, one of Pete’s favorite kinds, but right now he’s completely focused on the short, slightly chubby, adorable boy leading them down the sidewalk.

Pete soon finds himself at the back of the group with Andy, and he has to vent a little. “Dude,” he whispers frantically, his eyes fixed on the back of Patrick’s head as they walk. When Andy doesn’t respond, Pete slaps his arm a few times. _“Dude,_ he’s so pretty, he’s _perfect,_ what the fuck—”

“Oh my god. Seriously?” Pete can hear his roommate’s eye roll. “Pete, this penchant you have for falling in love with complete strangers does you more harm than good; you know that, right?”

“Shut up, Hurley, I’m not _in love_ with him,” Pete snaps. His eyes drift down to Patrick’s shoulders, which are broadened a bit by the jacket. “I just kinda wanna hug him and kiss him and hear what his laugh sounds like and make him coffee in the morning and…shit like that.”

“Okay, so you’re hopelessly infatuated with him,” Andy reasons. “Not much better. Are you gonna talk to him after the tour?”

Pete considers this for a long moment, biting his lip. He wants to, of course—wants to introduce himself and write his number on Patrick’s arm and spend all night texting him and learning everything about him—but. Making the first move isn’t usually his strong suit when he’s sober, and even drunk Pete needs a serious nudge.

Besides that, commitment freaks Pete the fuck out. That’s probably why he’s never had a serious relationship before, even though he’s sometimes caught himself wanting one. One-night stands and FWB arrangements are fun while they last, but the whole point of them is the fact that they _don’t_ last.

For some reason, Pete can’t see it being like that with Patrick. He can tell this kid deserves more already. The problem is, Pete’s never really been able to give “more.” And on top of everything, he doesn’t even know if Patrick _likes_ guys.

Fuck. He’s getting so ahead of himself here. He’d only met the kid ten minutes ago, if that, and already he’s mapping out these grand designs. _Reign yourself in, Wentz._

“I dunno,” he finally says in response to Andy’s question. He tears his gaze away from Patrick and stares down at his own shoes as they continue down Kenmore towards the old church. “He probably wouldn’t like me, anyway. He seems too…too _nice,_ y’know? Like…Like I’m a bottle of ink and he’s a blank sheet of paper. Knowing me might fuck him up.”

When he glances up, Andy is staring at him incredulously. “Are you serious right now?” he asks Pete, his eyebrows rising above the rims of his glasses. “Pete. You don’t know him _at all._ Assuming everyone is gonna automatically hate you isn’t healthy or realistic. For all you know, he could be more fucked up than you.”

Pete rolls his eyes and crams his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “Gee, thanks,” he mutters, a little hurt.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” Andy’s voice softens and he nudges the other boy affectionately. “All I’m saying is assuming stuff is dumb. He could replace me as your best friend one day.”

Pete huffs out a laugh and looks back up at Andy gratefully. “Never,” he says, quirking a smile.

“Anything’s possible,” Andy chuckles, smiling back. “Talk to him later. For me.”

“Fine, _mom.”_

A minute later, the group reaches St. Vincent de Paul Church on the southernmost point of campus. As they enter, Patrick turns around to speak. Pete knows he should be looking around the dimly-lit church, but he can’t look away from Patrick’s sideburn-framed face.

“Alright, so you’ve all been in here before, right?” the younger boy asks, his voice echoing throughout the empty sanctuary. He smiles as everyone nods. “Thought so. Well, did you know that this church was founded and built in 1876? It’s the oldest building on DePaul’s campus, and even though it’s been expanded and refurbished a couple times since it was built, a lot of it—like the stained glass windows—is still completely original. Its founder, Reverend Edward Smith, died in 1897 before the newly-expanded version could be dedicated, and his funeral was the first one ever held in this sanctuary. Who knows—he might still be here.”

Okay, so this might turn out to be more interesting than Pete had anticipated. Patrick has a good storytelling voice, even though he stammers a little, and the whole tour group looks pretty invested in what he’s saying. Pete, for one, is utterly rapt with attention. Patrick notices this—after a few minutes of idle exploration and answering a few questions, he leads them out of the church, shooting Pete a quick, shy smile as he passes by. Pete smiles back and follows him, ignoring the bemused glance he gets from Andy.

They go next door to Byrne Hall after St. Vincent’s. Patrick leads them through the first floor and tells them how it was home to a Catholic college prep high school from 1907 to 1968, when it was turned over to DePaul and re-named after the university’s first President. He describes the spirits of nuns and distraught 20th-century teenagers that might still roam the halls, and Pete is transfixed.

“Did you know this place was so cool?” Pete whispers to Andy as they leave and head to the Steans Center. “It’s _really_ cool, man. DePaul is cool!”

“It’s just old,” Andy says, but he’s clearly trying to bite back a smug grin. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the ‘lame’ tour, though.”

Pete glares at him sidelong and elbows him in the ribs, thankful for the low light outside that hides his blush.

They visit four more buildings during the tour, and Patrick does an expert job of making Pete think that each of them might house a ghost or two. He’s always been interested in old buildings, and as much as he insists he hates history, sometimes it can draw him in and hold his attention. Having an adorable guy tell him all this history in the context of a ghost story certainly doesn’t hurt.

It’s quarter after ten by the time the tour finishes in the SAC, and Patrick seems a little relieved that it’s over. He smiles widely at them and digs a pen and a folded piece of paper out of a hidden pocket inside his jacket. “Thanks for coming out tonight, guys,” he says sincerely. “I hope it was fun. Um, I just need you to sign this sheet before you leave—I’m doing this for extra credit in my History 103 class and my professor needs proof that people actually showed up.”

The girl with orange hair chuckles and takes the pen and paper from him. She signs her name—Hayley something—with the paper pressed against her denim-clad thigh. “You have Mullins, don’t you?” she asks. “He’s awful.”

The rest of the small group signs the paper after her, and Pete purposely goes last while Andy waits for him by the door. He writes his name much more legibly than he normally would, heart pounding when he feels Patrick’s gorgeous eyes watching him. When he’s done, he straightens up and hands the items back to Patrick, forcing himself to meet the shorter boy’s gaze. God, he’s even more beautiful up close.

Scrambling for something to say, Pete stands there awkwardly while Patrick tucks the pen and paper back inside his jacket. Finally, he swallows hard and blurts, “You did a really good job tonight.”

Patrick looks back up at him in surprise, his cheeks flushing pink. “Oh, um. Thank you,” he says with a nervous little laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was actually really fucking nervous I would, like, forget something or get a date wrong. Talking in front of people isn’t my strong suit.”

“Well, I couldn’t tell,” Pete assures him with a friendly grin. “Uh, was this the only tour you’re doing, or…?”

“No, actually. I’m doing the one on the twenty-ninth, too.” Patrick shrugs and tucks his hands into the pockets of his suit pants. “There’ll probably be more people at that one, so I gotta refresh my lines a few more times before then.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” Pete says. He quirks an eyebrow and casts a quick glance up and down Patrick’s outfit, smiling teasingly. “Are they gonna make you dress up in Victorian garb again?”

“Unfortunately,” Patrick sighs, reaching up to unfasten his lace collar. He stuffs it in his back pocket and scratches at his (pale, smooth, bitable) neck a bit. “It’s on loan from the theater department; every guide has to wear one. I know, it’s hideous.”

Pete shakes his head, his expression softening. “Not on you.”

Patrick blinks at him, seemingly taken aback by the compliment. A little smile alights on his (pink, soft, kissable) lips and he blushes a bit darker. “U-Um. Thanks,” he stutters, glancing down at his shiny black shoes.

“Anytime,” Pete says, smiling back. In his peripheral vision, he can see Andy grinning at him by the door. “Looks like my roommate wants to get out of here, so I should go. I just wanted to let you know you did a great job, even if you were nervous.”

“I appreciate it, uh—” Patrick fumbles with his jacket until he pulls out the sign-in sheet and unfolds it. “—Pete,” he finishes as he reads Pete’s name at the bottom of the list, meeting the older boy’s eyes again with a grateful smile.

Pete loves the sound of that voice saying his name. “Don’t mention it, Patrick,” he replies, starting to back up towards Andy. “See ya ‘round.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says with a little wave. “I hope so.”

The whole way back to their dorm, Pete feels like a zombie at a brain buffet.

 

* * *

 

Pete spends the next day looking all over campus for Patrick, which would sound creepy if he said it out loud. He doesn’t find him, and Andy notices his dejection when he returns to their room after classes. “You’re really hung up on that tour guide, aren’t you?” he asks without looking up from the textbook in his lap.

“I think so,” Pete says with a deep sigh. He drops his backpack just inside the door and plops down on the couch beside his roommate, slumping against his shoulder. “I almost asked for his number, but I chickened out at the last second. I don’t even know his last name, Andy, I’m _dying._ I need to see him again.”

“There’s a really simple solution to that, y’know.” Andy turns a page in his textbook. “Just go on his next tour tomorrow night.”

Pete sits up immediately and stares at his best friend in awe. “You’re a fucking genius, Hurley!” he exclaims, leaning over to smack a kiss on Andy’s cheek.

“I know. Now gimme some room, I’m trying to read this chapter.”

 

* * *

 

After soccer practice the next night, Pete rushes straight back to his dorm and showers, which is unusual for him—he typically sits around in his sweaty, grass-stained practice uniform until Andy picks him up in those stupidly strong arms and drags him into the bathroom. He scrubs himself well with the Axe body wash he only uses on special occasions (that is, when he knows he’s about to get laid—even though he definitely doesn’t expect that tonight).  He dries his hair, straightens it meticulously, and tugs on his favorite Metallica tee and a pair of black skinny jeans. On impulse, he also puts on a touch of eyeliner just to make himself stand out that much more.

Then he sits on the couch and does homework with Andy for two hours, not wanting to get to the tour too early. Andy looks at him after half an hour and asks, amused, “Are you wearing cologne?” Pete just blushes and keeps working on his paper.

When 8:45 finally rolls around, Pete picks out his least obnoxious hoodie—one with black and red stripes and a soft fleece lining—and laces up his Converse. He stands in the doorway and peers at Andy anxiously right before he leaves, wondering if he’s getting too worked up about this. “Do I look okay?”

Andy studies him from the couch and nods, smiling encouragingly. “You look fine,” he says. “Go make him drool.”

Pete flips him off and closes the door behind himself.

It’s slightly colder tonight than it was during the first tour, so Pete’s shivering a little by the time he reaches the Student Center. Sure enough, there’s a much larger group tonight—about twenty students are lingering in the atrium—and Pete walks over to them, rubbing his arms vigorously.

The second Patrick appears, though, the older boy goes warm all over.

“Hey, everyone!” Patrick calls cheerily as he approaches the tour group, cheeks red from the brisk outdoor air. He’s even more beautiful than Pete remembers with his crooked lace collar, tight-fitting waistcoat, and shining blue eyes. “Thanks for coming!”

His gaze darts through the crowd nervously for a few seconds, and it stops when he sees Pete. Pete offers him a broad, toothy smile and a wave; Patrick smiles back and visibly relaxes before launching into his introductory monologue.

Tonight’s tour isn’t that much different from the one two nights ago. Since there’s more people, Patrick sounds slightly more anxious while he speaks and he gets more questions, but his script is pretty much identical to the one from his first tour.

At least, Pete thinks it is. He isn’t really listening to anything Patrick’s saying—he’s preoccupied with watching his mouth curl around each word, studying his face, memorizing the way he walks and the quirky hand gestures he makes when he says something he thinks is really interesting. His glasses fog up a few times, making Pete’s heart melt, and his eyes lock with Pete’s once every few minutes. Pete snaps himself out of his trance to grin at him every time, delighted when he gets a grin in return.

When they end in the SAC, Pete lingers at the back of the group so he can be the last one to sign in again. His heart flutters as he gets closer and closer to this miracle boy who seems way too good to be true, wondering what he should say and how he should say it without seeming too obviously enthralled. The line shuffles forwards quickly, and after about two minutes of waiting, Pete comes face-to-face with Patrick. _Finally._

The younger boy looks up at him and smirks a little, eyes sparkling. “Hey there,” he says, offering Pete the pen. “Liked the tour so much you decided to do it again, huh?”

“Something like that,” Pete chuckles as he signs his name. _Be cool, be cool, but don’t fuck this up._ “Mostly I just wanted to see you again.”

When he looks up from the paper, Patrick’s beaming and the tips of his ears are as red as his waistcoat. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.” Pete grins back at him and caps the pen. Feeling bold, he reaches out and slips it into the breast pocket of Patrick’s jacket, smoothing down the lapels before taking his hands away. “Is…that okay?”

“Definitely,” Patrick says with a little nod. He and Pete just smile at each other for a few seconds, blushing, until Patrick’s eyes light up with an idea. “Wait.”

Patrick takes the pen out of his breast pocket and unfolds the sign-in sheet. He scrawls something on the top of the page, then holds it out to Pete with a shaking hand.

Next to the “NAME” column, he’s written “PHONE #” and a line next to Pete’s name.

Pete actually snorts, releasing some nerves, and takes the pen back. “Smooth,” he laughs as he writes his number on the wobbly line. For good measure, he adds a smiley face and a tiny, crudely-drawn bat.

The younger boy grins when he looks at the paper afterwards. “Cool,” he says like he can’t believe he actually has Pete’s number now. He looks up at Pete and bites his perfect bottom lip. “Um. I-I’ll text you?”

“I’ll text back,” Pete promises, using every ounce of self-control he possesses to keep from leaning forwards and kissing the breath out of Patrick right here. “We should hang out sometime. Like, soon. I know a bunch of great coffee places near here and there’s a cheap movie theater not far away…” He’s getting ahead of himself, he knows he is, but he can’t help it.

But Patrick just nods, enthusiastic. “I can’t wait,” he says softly, sincerely, and Pete thinks his chest might burst with joy.

 

* * *

 

The two boys text nonstop the next day, hiding their phones under their desks and behind their books in class. Pete finds out that Patrick’s last name is Stump, he’s eighteen, he has two older siblings, and he grew up in Glenview _ten minutes away_ from Pete’s home in Wilmette. Besides that, his favorite movie is _Ghostbusters,_ he’s a music major, and he sings at coffee shops on the weekends for extra cash. He has a snarky side and a huge Napoleon complex, and if you piss him off he’ll fuck you up, like a little ginger bulldog with glasses and sideburns. All-in-all, he’s one of the most interesting people Pete’s ever met.

With every new detail Pete uncovers about this kid, he finds himself more and more enamored. He tells Patrick this, and his face hurts from smiling when Patrick admits he feels the same about him.

After classes, Pete spends the rest of his day poking at his research paper between texts, much to Andy’s bemusement. He ignores his roommate’s gentle teasing in favor of trying to make Patrick laugh.

_hey guess wat i just found online_

**_What? Omg_ **

_halloween pickup lines hehe_

_wanna hear sum_

**_…You’re a dork but sure :)_ **

_yes i am_

_ok 1st one: r u a ghost? bc u have been haunting my dreams_

**_Omg that’s actually not bad_ **

_B)_

_2: if u were a jack o lantern id lite ur candle_

**_Cheesy as hell but cute I guess haha_ **

_ikr haha_

_ok this next one is kinda suggestive is that ok_

**_Gosh. Yeah it’s fine_ **

_ok_

_3: im a zombie can i eat u out?_

**_Fuck I’m laughing so hard hahahahaha_ **

**_That’s so bad it’s actually good_ **

Pete laughs and smiles at his phone. He can’t remember the last time he felt this happy. Interacting with Patrick is so easy, so simple, it feels like he’s been doing it for years. Something about the freshman feels achingly familiar, like they’re childhood friends reuniting. It’s already an addicting feeling.

They talk on-and-off for the rest of the day, between homework and dinner and showers. Patrick goes to bed shortly after midnight with a promise to text Pete in the morning, and Pete promises he’ll reply. An hour later, Pete falls asleep with his phone on his bare chest.

Around four a.m., he jolts awake drenched in a cold sweat. There’s tears streaking his cheeks and he can barely breathe—fuck, he hates his nightmares. He _hates_ them, and he hates his fucking brain for not allowing him to have even twenty-four measly hours of peace. He’d thought after falling asleep so easily after such a good day that maybe, _maybe_ he’d be spared, but no.

Usually Pete would wake up Andy and talk it out with him, but he finds himself searching for his phone instead.

 _hey trick im sorry r u awake_ he texts, using the nickname he’d coined earlier.

About five minutes later, he gets a reply: **_Yeah I am now, why?_**

Pete just stares at the screen for a solid minute, feeling completely stupid. What the fuck is he doing? As much as it feels like he’s known Patrick forever, he hasn’t—they’re still basically strangers who’ve only spoken in person twice. Patrick isn’t gonna want to deal with Pete’s whiny, pathetic ass at four in the morning after knowing him for a single day. That’s not fair to him.

**_Pete? Is something wrong?_ **

Pete’s vision goes blurry with tears. _no no m fine sorry go ba k 2 slep_

**_I don’t believe you. Do you want me to call you_ **

An angel. Patrick is an angel and Pete doesn’t deserve him.

_yes_

His phone buzzes ten seconds later and he picks up quickly, sniffling as he brings it up to his ear. “H-Hey.”

“Pete…” Patrick’s lovely voice is scratchy with sleep and he sounds genuinely concerned. “What’s wrong, what happened?”

Pete just lets out a soft sob and squeezes his eyes shut, ashamed and scared that he’s about to lose Patrick already. “I-I…” He takes a deep, shuddering breath and tries to calm down a little. “God, I was hoping you wouldn’t f-find this out about me until later.”

“Find what out?” Patrick asks, sounding more awake now. He should be sleeping, dreaming about happy things, not talking some weird emo dude he’s just met down from a panic attack. “Pete, please tell me what’s wrong. You’re kinda scaring me.”

“Sorry.” Pete takes another deep breath and coughs a little, sniffing again. He hopes he doesn’t wake up Andy, who’s asleep in the bed across the room. “I-I, um. Fuck. O-Okay, so…I sort of—” _Spit it out. You’re just delaying the inevitable._

“—I have bipolar disorder,” he finally says, voice small and quiet. It’s nothing to be ashamed of and he knows that, objectively, but it feels like he’s confessing to a murder right now. “S-So. I take pills for it, but I still, like. I get manic episodes where I’m happy and loud and super high energy, b-but I also—I get low points, too. Usually at night. A-And I have insomnia and I get n-nightmares which is what happened tonight and I’m f-fucked up and you _shouldn’t_ be friends with m-me, _fuck,_ I don’t know why I convinced mys-self that I could actually b-be friends with someone as good and nice and unmarred as y-you, I’m sorry, I-I’m s-so sorry—”

Pete dissolves into soft sobs and hitches of breath, hating himself for doing this to Patrick. He should just hang up now, delete Patrick’s number, and let the younger boy live his life without the burden that being associated with Pete brings. It would be better for both of them.

But.

Instead of hanging up or yelling or just being awkwardly quiet, Patrick is cooing soothing sounds into the phone, shushing Pete and trying to calm him down. “I’m here,” he keeps saying, “you’re okay, I’m here, everything’s okay.” Miraculously, it starts to work—Pete’s sobs die off into quiet hiccups and his tears eventually stop; he still feels like shit but at least he can breathe somewhat normally now.

After a few minutes of this, Patrick asks softly, “Are you mostly better now?”

Pete sighs and wipes his nose on his pillowcase. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good. Now I want you to listen to me for a minute.”

Pete nods, then remembers Patrick can’t see him. _Thank god—_ his face is probably all splotchy and tear-stained. “Okay.”

“Okay. First of all, you’re not ‘too fucked up’ to be my friend,” Patrick starts, voice gentle but stern. “You’re not fucked up at all. You’re human and anyone would be lucky to have you as a friend, or anything else.” Pete can’t help it when his heart skips at that. “Secondly, I’m not—it’s not like I don’t have my fair share of demons to deal with, myself. I’m not some flawless deity you’re destined to ruin—I’m human, too, just like you.”

“A better human than me,” Pete mutters, picking at the tag on his pillow. “I can tell that already.”

“Yeah, probably not,” Patrick chuckles humorlessly. “I can be really fucking mean and bossy and dismal sometimes, and I get distracted at the drop of a hat.”

“One time I didn’t shower for a week,” Pete cuts in, unwilling to listen to Patrick be so down on himself. He doesn’t deserve that. “Too sad to get out of bed.”

“Yeah? Well one time I didn’t eat for a week, so.” Patrick pauses and takes a deep breath; Pete feels his heart break a bit as that information sinks in. _Oh, Patrick._ “We’re human, Pete. Humans get sad and mad and they hate themselves sometimes, but they also laugh and make corny jokes and use ridiculous Halloween-themed pick-up lines.”

Pete laughs a little, a real laugh. “C’mon. Those were some good fucking lines.”

“A few of them were decent, I’ll admit,” Patrick replies, giggling a little. It’s the sweetest sound Pete’s ever heard. “Most of them just made me roll my eyes.”

“Y’know, I could tell even from over the phone.”

“Good.”

The two of them share a quiet laugh and listen to each other breathe for a minute. Pete feels a lot better after talking to Patrick—he doesn’t think anyone’s ever been able to cheer him up like this besides his mother. He still isn’t sure he’s going to be able to fall back asleep, though. There’s something that might work, but he’s reluctant to ask about it.

Meh. What the hell.

“Um. Patrick?” he asks quietly, rolling onto his back. “Would you—and it’s okay if you say no, I promise—w-would you sing for me? Might help me sleep again.”

Patrick told him earlier that despite his coffee shop gig, he’s never been that fond of his own voice and rarely sings for fun. Something tells Pete the younger boy’s voice is a whole lot better than he thinks, and he’s dying to hear it.

After a pause, Patrick finally murmurs, “Sure. Any requests?”

Pete grins at the ceiling. “Surprise me,” he whispers, heart jumping.

Patrick clears his throat after a few seconds, and then.

Then, the most sonorous, melodic, _exquisite_ voice Pete has ever heard floats through the speaker of his phone and fills his entire body with adoration.

_“When I find myself in times of trouble_

_Mother Mary comes to me_

_Speaking words of wisdom, let it be…”_

“Beautiful,” Pete breathes as his eyes slowly slip closed. He’s fast asleep before the song is over.

 

* * *

 

Pete is vehemently apologetic the next morning, texting Patrick in a flurry of typos and frowny face emojis as soon as he wakes up. He sends about ten texts following the general format of _fuck im so so sorry about htat im so embararssrd sorry trick sorry :( :( :(((((((_ and braces himself for a scolding, or worse, silence.

To his surprise, Patrick isn’t weirded out or distant—in fact, everything is pretty much the same as yesterday. Only now it feels like their friendship/acquaintanceship/whatever-the-fuck-is-happening is a little deeper than before, rooted in a better understanding of each other and mutual emotional support. It took Pete a month to get to this point with Andy; he’s stunned that this is happening, and it seems like Patrick kind of is, too.

 _is it weird tht i feel like ive known u for a lot longer than 2 days_ Pete asks that afternoon, after he’s learned a few of Patrick’s favorite music artists (Bowie, Prince, and Elvis Costello). They’re a lot different from Metallica and Pink Floyd, but Pete thinks he can dig them. He’s discovering that he and Patrick are complete opposites in a lot of ways, but he likes it.

Patrick replies a couple minutes later, making Pete’s phone buzz in his lap under his desk in Physics 104. He’s so glad it’s Friday—not only is it finally Halloween, but he has the whole weekend ahead of him to spend with Patrick if he wants. No more hiding his phone obsessively in class.

**_No it’s not weird at all. I kinda feel the same way, actually…_ **

_rly??_ Pete beams at his phone.

**_Yeah oddly enough haha. Idk I feel like we know each other better than most people usually do after 2 days. Last night helped I think_ **

_…i still feel bad abt that sighs i was afraid u wud think i was a freak like sum ppl do…it felt like a lot to put on u so soon after meeting u_

**_1\. I would never think youre a freak 2. Yeah it was a lot but I think we handled it just fine 3. Friends support each other no matter what_ **

**_Don’t worry about it Pete, it’s totally fine I promise_ **

Pete’s heart is liable to burst right out of his chest in the middle of this classroom. He really is the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet for finding this kid. _okay :) and u can txt/call me anytime whenever u feel down or anything too ok?_

**_Yes you said that already haha :P I will_ **

_good. specially if those highschool bullies start givin u shit again—i will fuq them up 4 u_

**_Not sure they’d be too scared of a short emo dude but thanks <3_ **

The heart is new. Pete stares at the screen with wide, hopeful eyes and tentatively texts one back, his fingers shaking.

_< 3 haha_

**_:D :*_ **

Is. Is that a kiss? _dude did u just virtually kiss me_

**_…Is that okay_ **

Pete’s pretty sure his face is going to split in two. He can feel the curious looks of his classmates on him but he doesn’t care for once, because the cutest, most amazing boy in the universe just _kissed him over text._ It doesn’t feel like Halloween anymore; for Pete, it’s fuckin’ Christmas.

_more than ok omg im blushign like an idiot in the middle of this class_

**_Then I’ve done my job ;) Pay attention tho_ **

_yes mother_

_… :*_

Pete stuffs his phone under his leg and covers his reddening face with his hands.

 

* * *

 

**_Uuuugh sometimes Joe can be fucking irritating_ **

Pete looks up from his research paper—he’s on the last page and is scrambling to finish so he can maybe do something spooky with Patrick or Andy tonight—and frowns at the text on his phone. They haven’t spoken much since Physics a couple hours ago and Pete hopes everything’s okay.

_wat happened?? i thought he was like the best roomie evr_

**_He usually is but he just told me he’s having his gf Marie over tonight and he wants the room…gags_ **

**_So I’ve pretty much got nowhere to go_ **

Despite Patrick’s clearly foul mood, Pete perks up. _Score._

_well guess wat trick thats actually good news_

**_How so?_ **

_it means u can come ovr to my place tonite and we can watch scary movies n binge on candy n shit_

_if u want_

Patrick doesn’t respond for about five minutes, and Pete starts to panic. Was that too forward? It’s not like he’s planning on getting into Patrick’s pants tonight or anything, though he wouldn’t be opposed if the younger boy consented to it. He just wants to hang out and gorge on fun-size chocolate bars and maybe, if Patrick wants to, make out a little bit. Feeling douchey, he starts hastily typing out an apologetic manifesto.

**_That sounds awesome_ **

Pete pauses and blinks at the screen of his phone. Really? Did Patrick just say yes? The older boy’s stomach flips over.

_dude rly? i dont wanna pressure u or anything of course_

**_No it really sounds fun. Spending Halloween night with scary movies, candy, and a hot guy is pretty much ideal for me actually_ **

Pete’s surprised he doesn’t actually squeal. _u think im hot_ he asks, biting his lip and blushing.

**_Uh duh haha. Have I not been obvious enough?_ **

_eeeeeee trick ur gonna make me explode_

_fyi i think ur a cutie patootie too_

**_Shut up gosh_ **

_nooope u have opened the floodgates trick im gonna tell u ur cute and pretty and smokin every chance i get now_

**_Omg whatever dick <3_ **

**_Just fyi, I’m probably never gonna believe you_ **

The smile fades from Pete’s face as he reads this. He recalls what Patrick told him over the phone last night, that he once didn’t eat for an entire week, and his heart aches. It looks like the freshman wasn’t kidding when he said he has his own demons to fight.

_youll believe it one day trick i promise. im gonna make it my mission to make u believe it_

**_Good luck with that lmao_ **

**_Thanks though_ **

Pete sighs happily at his phone, feeling a new wave of affection for Patrick wash over him. _anytime tricky <3_ he texts before getting back to work on his paper.

Once he’s finished, he and Patrick agree on an eight p.m. meeting and Pete finds out all of Patrick’s favorite candy so he can stock up. He runs to the nearest Walgreens and buys black licorice bites, Snickers, Milky Way Midnights, and all the M&Ms he can carry, ignoring the looks he gets from other customers. Tonight is gonna be amazing; he can tell already.

When he gets back to his dorm, Andy gives him an inquisitive eyebrow quirk from his perch on the couch. “What’s all that for?” he asks, turning down the TV volume and nodding at the bags in Pete’s hands. “The neighborhood kiddies?”

 _Oh._ Shit. Should Pete tell Andy he needs the room tonight, just in case? He doesn’t want to kick his best friend out for nothing, but if he and Patrick decide to…he doesn’t want to worry about disturbing anyone. Also, he really doesn’t want to embarrass Patrick—he has a feeling the younger boy hasn’t really done anything beyond kissing before, and having a stranger in the next room might make him even more nervous.

Fuck it. He’s not Andy’s only friend, right? Surely there must be something going on tonight with the vegan club he’s part of.

“Uh. About that.” Pete sets the bags down and kicks off his shoes, scuffing the carpet with his socked feet nervously. “I kinda…invited Patrick over tonight?”

Instead of looking annoyed, Andy actually seems pleased. He smiles at Pete and nods. “That’s awesome, dude,” he says, and Pete can tell he means it. Then his expression turns suggestive and he waggles his eyebrows teasingly. “D’you want the room, Casanova?”

Pete’s cheeks flare with heat and he’s tempted to throw a shoe at his roommate. “I-I know it’s last minute, and we probably won’t even do anything, really, but just in case—”

“Hey. Say no more, man.” Andy grins at him. “Mikey and Gerard actually invited us to a party at their apartment tonight, but I’ll just go and tell them you can’t make it.”

“Thanks,” Pete says sincerely, endlessly grateful for his amazing friend. “If it were anyone else, I’d say you could stay and we’d just be quiet, but…if anything does happen, I want—it should be special for him. I dunno if he’s ever, like, _done_ anything before either, so…”

Andy just watches Pete with a small, knowing smirk on his lips. “You really like him already, don’t you?” he asks softly.

Pete smiles bashfully. “I do. He’s awesome, Andy. He’s funny and caring and sweet and beautiful and he has the most _incredible_ singing voice in the fucking universe, I swear. He also does this thing where he pretty much reads my mind and says _exactly_ what I’m thinking and sometimes I do the same thing to him—it’s kinda weird, actually. But…God, yeah, I _really_ like him.”

“I can tell.” Andy turns off the TV and gets up from the couch, walking over to his friend and clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

Pete blinks, confused. “For what?”

“Well, if it weren’t for me dragging your ass to that ghost tour on Monday—”

“Hey, I made the decision to go all on my own, dickwad!” Pete laughs, shoving at Andy’s chest playfully.

“Whatever! I was an accomplice at the very least,” Andy insists, elbowing him.

“Yeah, maybe you were.” Pete draws Andy in for a friendly hug, squeezing him tight. “Thanks.”

 

* * *

 

Eight p.m. rolls around too quickly but not quick enough, as far as Pete’s concerned. He’s pacing back and forth in the living room of his now-empty dorm—Andy had left for the Way brothers’ party half an hour ago—overthinking things, as usual. He and Patrick haven’t seen each other in person since Wednesday, and almost all of the talking they’ve done has been over text. What if tonight is awkward? What if they can’t find anything to talk about and Patrick realizes he doesn’t actually like Pete as much as he thought he did? What if Pete does something wrong and makes Patrick uncomfortable and they never speak again?

Pete takes a deep breath and tries to slow down his racing thoughts. Looking around the room, he takes in the soft blankets and pillows he’s arranged on the couch and wonders if it’s too much. He’d considered fall-scented candles, but that would’ve been far too presumptive. At most, he and Patrick are going to kiss a couple times tonight, and that’s it. Pete’s okay with that. He’s so used to fast-paced, detached, “I’ll-fuck-you-ten-minutes-after-meeting-you” relationships; moving slow for once doesn’t sound so bad.

He’s in the middle of wondering if he should fill up the giant candy bowl on the coffee table more when his phone vibrates in his pocket.

**_I’m downstairs. Come check me in?_ **

Pete’s heart does something twitchy and stupid in his chest and he takes a deep, nerve-soothing breath. _yay! be there in a min_ he replies, heading to the door.

Before he leaves, he checks his appearance in his phone’s front-facing camera: He’d opted for heavier, smokier eyeliner and a white V-neck tonight, paired with dark red skinny jeans and straightened, gently fluffed hair. It looks pretty good, if he does say so himself, and he hopes Patrick likes it too.

The twelve-second elevator ride down to the first floor is the longest twelve seconds of Pete’s life, he’s sure it is. The doors swoosh open and he walks towards the check-in desk with his heart in his throat, scanning his surroundings for any sign of a short, reddish-blonde angel.

Finally, Pete sees him. He’s sitting in one of the lounge chairs in the waiting area beside the desk, scrolling on his phone with one thumb. He’s wearing a black John Coltrane tee under a faded denim jacket and his soft hair curls beautifully against his neck from under the dark green knit beanie on his head. Combined with the baggy, ripped jeans and black Converse, it makes him look like the perfect little punk. _Fuck, he’s gorgeous,_ Pete thinks, awestruck.

“Patrick!” he calls when he gets his voice back, hastening his pace. The air leaves his lungs when Patrick looks up at him through his glasses and their eyes meet.

“Hey, Pete!” Patrick replies, a glowing smile spreading across his face. He stands up from the chair and pockets his phone, walking quickly to meet Pete halfway across the room.

Once they’re face-to-face, there’s this strange, electric moment that passes between them. They’re standing about two feet apart, just smiling at each other, and Pete’s mind is whirring with a thousand thoughts. He wants to hug Patrick right here and now, wants to lean in and kiss that perfect pink mouth like he’s been thinking about doing since he first saw it. Patrick seems to be considering something, too—his blue eyes are wide and a little dark as they peer into Pete’s, happy but carefully calculating. Pete can barely breathe under the weight of his gaze.

Swallowing thickly, Pete licks his lips and blinks himself out of his stupor. “Um. You look different in normal clothes,” he says finally, casting a quick glance up and down Patrick’s body. “It’s a good different. Kinda miss the lace, though.”

Patrick laughs and glances down as his cheeks flare with color. “Y’know, I thought about bringing it tonight,” he jokes. “But it’s just too damn itchy.”

“It’s okay,” Pete assures him with a warm smile. The need to touch Patrick is suddenly so strong that he can’t stop himself from reaching out and taking the shorter boy’s hand in his own, squeezing gently.

Patrick looks up at him in surprise for a moment, then laces their fingers together and squeezes back. His hand is shaky a little clammy, but Pete doesn’t mind. It’s Patrick’s, after all.

They get Patrick checked in and walk over to the elevator hand-in-hand. As soon as the doors close, Pete starts babbling nervously. “So I’ve got tons of candy and stuff to choose from and also some pop in the fridge in case you get thirsty and Netflix is all queued up on the TV already so we can watch whatever you want, there’s like a million choices, and I think I have a _Ghostbusters_ DVD lying around somewhere too so—”

A pair of strong arms winding around his neck and a warm body pressing against his shuts Pete up rapidly. Patrick hugs him tight, nuzzling his cold nose against Pete’s neck with a content sigh. “It’s good to see you,” he says quietly.

Pete’s soul sings as he wraps his arms around Patrick’s slightly doughy middle. He hides his face in Patrick’s hair and breathes in his soothing, almost herbal scent, closing his eyes. “Yeah,” he murmurs, clenching his fists in Patrick’s denim jacket. “’S good to see you too.”

“Almost forgot you were a real person,” Patrick mutters. One of his hands crawls up and winds itself in Pete’s thick hair for a moment. “Too good to be true.”

Pete scoffs affectionately and shakes his head, but he can feel his own cheeks blazing. “Nah, man, that’s you.”

A faint _ding_ and the elevator doors opening force them apart, but Pete grabs Patrick’s hand again and keeps the smaller boy close to his side as he leads them down the hall to his room.

“Whoa!” Patrick exclaims as soon as the door opens. He looks around the living room and kitchen in wonder. “Wow, this has gotta be at least four times bigger than my place.”

“Yeah, I lived in Munroe my freshman year, too,” Pete says, slipping Patrick’s jacket off his shoulders and draping it over the back of a nearby chair. “Could barely breathe in there. And the suite bathroom sucked.”

“God, I _know._ Joe and I try to get the other two guys to clean it every once and awhile, but they never do.”

Once Pete has dimmed enough lights to make the wall-mounted TV screen really pop and gone through the candy choices (“Dude, you actually got black licorice?” Patrick exclaims excitedly, eyes bright. “You’re awesome.”), the two boys settle down on the couch and scroll through the Netflix horror choices until they settle on one called _The Babadook._ It’s creepy looking, Australian, and directed by a woman, and Pete and Patrick both think these are signs of an epic scary movie.

As the movie starts, Patrick hums and presses himself up against Pete’s side. Pete looks down at him and sees the flush in his cheeks, even in the darkened room, and smiles kindly. “Hey there,” he murmurs, slinging an arm over the younger boy’s shoulders to make them both more comfortable. His heart is pounding so loud he’s afraid Patrick can hear it over the opening sequence of the movie.

But Patrick just smiles up at him and—and downright _snuggles_ closer to him, biting his lip. “Hi,” he whispers, hiding his face shyly against Pete’s chest for a few seconds before turning back to the movie. It’s like he can’t believe he’s here right now, doing this, and it makes Pete tug him a little closer.

Turns out they were right—the movie is suspenseful and scary and even a little bit heartbreaking at times. Pete loves monster movies, and this one finds itself near the top of his list of favorites. The two boys munch on candy bars and M&Ms throughout, and Patrick even makes Pete try black licorice for the first time—the older boy actually spits it out, making Patrick shriek with laughter. “That tastes like _literal_ shit!” Pete gasps as he sprints to the kitchen to get a drink.

“Fuck you!” Patrick cackles, popping another three pieces into his mouth. “And get back here, I’m cold now.”

Pete doesn’t need to be told twice.

For the rest of the movie they sit in companionable silence, jumping a few times when something jarring happens onscreen. Patrick’s head remains nestled comfortably on Pete’s shoulder for most of the time, though, and the soft wool of his beanie tickles Pete’s jaw whenever he shifts. Pete can’t believe how easy this all feels, how simple and natural and second-nature it is to draw tiny circles on Patrick’s shoulder with his fingertips and nuzzle the soft fringe of his hair every so often. It’s like he was born to do this—Patrick fits against him like a warm, soft puzzle piece and it’s the best feeling in the world. He can’t even remember what it felt like to _not_ have this, honestly. Pete could write pages and pages of tuneless lyrics to describe the way Patrick’s hand feels curled in the fabric of his V-neck, or the way his eyes get a little squinty when he smiles really wide. He’s an utter masterpiece, and Pete desperately hopes he’ll get the chance to show Patrick that one day.

The movie ends and the credits start to roll, but Pete doesn’t want to move even an inch to reach for the remote. There’s candy wrappers and a few pop cans scattered over the couch and the coffee table but it’s an utterly perfect scene. Patrick is a heavy, solid weight against Pete’s side and for a moment Pete thinks he might have dozed off, until he moves to brush some hair out of his eyes.

“Good movie,” the smaller boy murmurs, twisting to look up at Pete and smile warmly. “Female directors are badass.”

“Hell yeah, they are,” Pete agrees, struggling to keep his eyes fixed on Patrick’s when all he wants to do is stare unabashedly at that enticing mouth.

Patrick seems to pick up on this internal battle, because something flickers across his face and he glances down at Pete’s lips for a fraction of a second. Pete’s stomach clenches and his next breath hitches in his throat at the sight.

“Pete?” Patrick asks, meeting his gaze again. “Um, c-can I…?”

“Hmm?” Pete blinks slowly and raises one trembling hand to caress Patrick’s flushed cheek. He knows what Patrick’s trying to ask, but something in him needs to hear it out loud, in plain English.

Patrick swallows and leans into Pete’s hand a bit, golden lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he blinks. “Can I kiss you?” he whispers finally, staring openly at Pete’s mouth now.

“Yes,” Pete breathes, and he meets Patrick halfway.

The first touch of their lips is slightly off-center and their noses bump a bit, but when Pete tilts his head and sighs through his nose and cups Patrick’s face in his hands, everything lines up perfectly. Patrick’s lips are plush and petal-soft and his hands shake where they’re resting on the small of Pete’s back; Pete hums and gently prods the younger boy’s mouth open with his tongue, stroking his cheeks soothingly with his thumbs. Patrick tastes like chocolate and ginger ale and he gasps so sweetly when his tongue brushes Pete’s for the first time. This isn’t his first kiss, Pete can tell, but it must be his first one in awhile, because it doesn’t take long for him to pull Pete closer on the couch and kiss him harder, licking almost hungrily at the roof of Pete’s mouth. Pete, for one, hasn’t been kissed in about two months, but he’s _never_ been kissed like this. This kiss feels like a breath of fresh mountain air; like a dunk in Lake Michigan in the middle of a sweltering Chicago summer; like opening your eyes and really _seeing_ the world around you for the very first time.

There’s panting and soft gasps and tiny, barely audible whines from both of them as they kiss and kiss and _kiss_ like it’s what they were made to do. Before either of them knows it, Patrick is in Pete’s lap, straddling his thighs with his arms looped loosely around Pete’s neck. Pete’s fingers are digging into Patrick’s padded hips and he’s drinking Patrick up like he’s in the middle of the Sonora Desert and Patrick is the last swig of water in his canteen. Each swipe of their tongues against each other hikes up the senior’s temperature by another half degree, and he knows if they keep this up for more than another minute he’ll have to at least remove his shirt.

“’Trick,” he gasps when they finally break for air, their foreheads sweaty and pressed together. “Holy _hell,_ Patrick.”

“I-I know,” Patrick replies breathlessly, his voice equally ruined. He runs one shaking hand through Pete’s hair and bumps their noses together gently. “That was—”

“—Unreal,” Pete finishes with a delirious laugh. His hands creep up Patrick’s back, rubbing soothing circles into the heated skin through his shirt. “I…Wow.” For once in his life, he’s at a complete loss for words.

“Mmhmm.” Patrick nods. His lips are red and kiss-bitten and his face is near scarlet and _god,_ Pete wishes he could think of more synonyms for “perfect” right about now.

“Incredible,” Pete whispers, moving his head a bit to kiss Patrick’s neck carefully. The teenager huffs out a shuddering breath and tips his head back to give Pete better access; Pete takes advantage of it immediately, brushing his swollen lips down Patrick’s jawline to the junction of his neck and shoulder. “Flawless, gorgeous, wonderful.” His kisses and nips are tentative and gentle and he pays close attention to Patrick’s reactions, not wanting to go too far too fast. Mostly Patrick is just clutching his shoulders and gasping softly, so Pete figures he’s in safe territory for now.

“P-Pete,” Patrick murmurs after a minute, tugging gently on Pete’s hair. “Hold on, Pete, _Pete—”_

The older boy stops instantly and pulls away, looking up into Patrick’s lust-darkened eyes. “Are you okay?” he asks, petting Patrick’s sides.

“I…” Patrick licks his lips and shivers lightly. “…Pete, I’ve never…M-Most of this is totally new to me.”

“I know.” Pete kisses Patrick’s cheek and holds him close, trying to soothe him. He’d anticipated this, and he’s prepared. “S-Sorry, I—was that too much?”

Patrick bites his lip and considers for a moment. Pete can feel his heart beating against his own chest through their shirts; it’s a uniquely intimate sensation he’s never felt with anyone else.

“I-I don’t…no,” Patrick finally intones, pulling back a bit to look down at Pete more assuredly. “No, it’s okay. ‘S good.”

“Yeah?” Pete grins up at him and trails his hands down to rest on the small of Patrick’s back, pinkies brushing a denim waistband. “D’you wanna keep going?”

Patrick thinks some more, his palms flat against Pete’s chest now. He traces the neckline of Pete’s shirt, barely touching Pete’s skin with the calloused pads of his fingertips, and shifts in the taller boy’s lap. After a few long seconds of deliberation, he says softly, “Can we watch _Ghostbusters_ first?”

Pete actually laughs a bit at this and kisses Patrick’s cheeks adoringly. “Of course,” he says, squeezing Patrick’s hips once before releasing them. “Lemme go get the DVD from my room.”

The freshman nods and rolls off of his lap, letting Pete stand up on wobbly legs. Pete feels those eyes watch him as he walks to the bedroom, and he swipes an arm across his spit-slick lips, breathing in deep. He can’t believe this is actually happening—he has Patrick in his living room, on his couch, panting and flushed and even more gorgeous than usual. This is the best Halloween ever, and it’s not even midnight yet.

Things are slightly more tense between them during this second movie, but not in a bad way. Pete’s just more acutely aware of everywhere Patrick’s touching him now—they’ve resumed their previous position, Pete’s arm around Patrick’s shoulders and Patrick curled up against his side, but now one of Patrick’s hands is resting on Pete’s knee. It’s not really doing anything, it’s just sort of sitting there, but every once in awhile one of his fingers will twitch and Pete could swear he feels it squeezing every few minutes. He feels like he’s burning, heat radiating out from that small point of contact, and it takes every ounce of self-control in his body to keep from rolling Patrick onto his back and ravishing him until neither of them can remember their names.

A little over halfway through the movie, Patrick pauses it and tells Pete he has to use the bathroom. Pete lets him up and watches him walk away, holding in a whine at the sight of his round ass in those faded, ripped jeans. _Fuck._ He feels so on edge and he knows if Patrick so much as _breathes_ on him, he’ll be rock-hard in an instant. He’s halfway there already, honestly, and he hopes Patrick hasn’t noticed.

When Patrick emerges from the bathroom, he looks…different, somehow. More sure of himself. He meets Pete’s eyes steadily and instead of sitting beside him again, he walks over and climbs back into the taller boy’s lap.

Pete feels his eyebrows meet his hairline and he rests his hands on Patrick’s hips. “’Trick?” he asks tentatively, searching his face. He feels tense but relaxed all at once.

Patrick worries his bottom lip between his teeth and reaches for the remote beside Pete. He turns the TV off without taking his eyes off Pete, plunging the living room into semi-darkness. The only light in room now comes from the lamp beside the couch, but Pete can still see the nerves under the certainty in Patrick’s eyes.

“Just kiss me,” Patrick whispers. “Please.”

Pete obliges without a word, rising like a wave to capture the younger boy’s mouth with his own.

They kiss in a glorious, heated give-and-take for what feels like hours. Pete can’t get enough of Patrick’s taste, his scent, the heft of his body in his lap practically pressing him into the back of the couch. He tries his best to give as good as he’s getting, but it’s pretty difficult—he doesn’t think he’s ever experienced a kiss as determined, focused, and deep as Patrick’s before.

Pete’s about to pull away and ask Patrick what the plan is when he feels the freshman swivel his hips in a shockingly filthy move, grinding down against his lap. Pete gasps into Patrick’s mouth and his hips twitch up off the couch of their own accord.

“Yeah,” Patrick whines, gripping Pete’s shoulders tight. “Yeah, _Pete.”_

“Fuck,” Pete bites out. His hands migrate down from Patrick’s waist and boldly grip his ass, hauling him just a little closer. “P-Patrick, are you…?”

“I’m sure,” Patrick says with a nod, grinding down again with a quiet whimper. “I trust you.” He drags his mouth away from Pete’s to press wet, uncoordinated kisses to his stubbly jaw. The feeling is electric; Pete chokes out a soft moan through gritted teeth and tips his head back.

They work out a rough rhythm, their growing erections rubbing together through two layers of denim. The friction is good, great even, but after five minutes of listening to Patrick whimper and gasp and groan quietly in his ear as they move, Pete needs more. “Babe,” he gasps, the endearment slipping out before he can stop it. “’T-Trick, can we…jeans off? Please? Just jeans, I promise—”

Patrick’s next moan sounds punched out of him. “Yes, yes, _please,”_ he begs, dragging himself away from Pete to stand up and fumble with his own belt.

“Here, let—” Pete leans forwards, legs spread, and helps Patrick out with shaking hands. They finally get the belt and fly undone, and Patrick shoves the jeans down his thick, pale, _mouthwatering_ thighs before kicking them underneath the coffee table. He’s left standing before Pete in nothing but his black Coltrane tee, his green beanie (which Pete should really remove soon; he needs to feel that soft hair between his fingers), and a pair of red boxer briefs. His sizeable erection is straining beneath the thin cotton, and Pete can’t help but stare.

Patrick blushes self-consciously, looking down and away from Pete’s steady gaze, and that’s just unacceptable. Pete stands up and pulls Patrick close, kissing him hard and deep. “Gorgeous,” he breathes into Patrick’s wet, sinful mouth. “Gorgeous, so beautiful, _god,_ Patrick—”

“Shut up,” Patrick whispers harshly, fingers working urgently on Pete’s fly. “Off, g-gotta get these off, c’mon.”

Pete chuckles and reaches down to help him, peeling off the red skinny jeans as soon as they’re unfastened to reveal his black briefs. “Patience.”

Finally, they’re standing in front of each other in nothing but their shirts and underwear. As Pete looks Patrick up and down, he marvels at his own luck and surges forwards, pulling Patrick flush against himself and kissing him like he needs it to breathe. Right now, it feels like he does.

A minute later, they’re lying down on the couch with Patrick on his back and his head propped up on a white throw pillow. His beanie’s been discarded, setting his red-gold hair free to fan out against the fabric, and he’s looking up at Pete pleadingly. “Are you just gonna stare at me, or are you gonna get me off?” he bitches, but his breathless voice softens the sting.

“Definitely gonna get you off,” Pete promises with a wicked grin before leaning down to kiss Patrick’s neck. He hovers over the smaller boy and settles between Patrick’s spread thighs, aligning their cocks perfectly through two thin layers of fabric. They both gasp at the feeling.

“Please,” Patrick says in a tight voice, twisting his hips up against Pete’s and arching his back. His shirt is almost soaked through with sweat, but right now it’s the hottest thing Pete’s ever seen. “Pete, move, please, _pleasepleaseplease—_ ”

“I got you, I got you,” Pete chokes out with a nod, and he grinds down hard. “Oh—”

Patrick actually _squeaks_ and digs his fingertips into Pete’s back. “More…!”

Pete gives him more, rolling his hips down hard and steady and biting down on Patrick’s neck to stifle his own noises. He doesn’t want to drown out the freshman’s gorgeous little moans and yelps, which are getting progressively louder as they both creep closer and closer to the edge of the cliff.

“P-Patrick,” Pete gasps after a minute of this delicious torture. “I—shit, Patrick, a-are you close, baby?”

Patrick nods frantically, hooking one leg over Pete’s waist and shouting as the angle of Pete’s thrusts changes as a result. “Fuck, fu-uck, _ah,_ god,” he whines, pressing his mouth to the shell of Pete’s ear and panting. “Yeah, yes, _fuuuck—!”_

Shit, the pipes on this kid. Pete’s keeping him forever. “Good,” he whispers hoarsely, speeding up his hips and groaning in the back of his throat. On impulse, he slides a hand between their bodies and grips Patrick’s weeping cock through his boxers. “Come for me, ‘Trick, come on, let go,” he grunts, leaning up to watch Patrick’s face as he falls apart.

Patrick squeezes his eyes shut and his face twists beautifully as he pushes his hips up into Pete’s hand, his steady, sensual rhythm gone to hell. “Ohgodohgodohgod, fuck, _fuck…!”_

“C’mon, ‘Tricky,” Pete repeats, feeling himself losing control at the sight of Patrick’s sheer desperation. “D-Do it, come in my hand, _come—_ ”

 _“Peeeete!”_ Patrick opens his mouth wide and lets loose a beautiful high-pitched wail as he comes in his boxers, pulsing under Pete’s hand. His back arches as he sobs and shivers through it, hips twitching up weakly, and holy _shit,_ Pete’s never seen, heard, or felt anything sexier. It’s enough to hurl him off the edge, too, and he grinds against the back of his own hand twice more before biting down on Patrick’s shoulder and coming himself, every muscle in his body going tense with the force of it.

Afterwards, Pete rests his head on Patrick’s overheated, heaving chest and hugs his waist, basking in the sweetest afterglow he’s felt in a long time. Patrick is petting his back, his hair, the nape of his neck, and it’s so nice Pete’s sure he could fall asleep to it.

Then Patrick’s tired, orgasm-lazy voice softly says, “I forgot to get a costume this year. Can I just go as your boyfriend?”

Pete blinks a couple times, pushes himself up, and looks down into Patrick’s eyes. The younger boy is flushed red all the way down his neck and he looks equal parts terrified and eager; his sea-colored eyes are wide and trusting, and Pete dives down for a gentle, chocolate-laden kiss.

“I'll be your Sally if you'll be my Jack,” he murmurs, tracing the curve of Patrick's cheek with one finger.

Patrick giggles and tugs Pete down by the hair for another kiss. "Deal."

###


End file.
